Bidding Old Ghosts Be Silent
by Hecatonchires
Summary: With Fond Remembrance. Life continues in the wake of the departed, leaving only echoes and memory. A dragoon moves on after the death of his fiancee. Zilart and Promathia spoiler references.
1. Brotherhood of the Bound

Calen scowled down at the spidery script spread before him in the flickering candlelight. The answers were here somewhere, he knew it. They had to be! And yet, it looked like another long day of research was proving to be ultimately fruitless. Months ago, there had been a dull gleam at the end of a long and thankless tunnel, but that fool Merra had thrown it away with his idiotic grandstanding. There were always other roads though, mused Calen. The Brotherhood of the Bound Ones did not give up easily.

A small, fanatical cult who existed to serve Promathia, the Brotherhood of the Bound Ones kept themselves to strictest secrecy. After all, there were very few indeed who would willingly harbor adherents to the god of Twilight. This tiny safehouse-turned-library was one of their few sanctuaries left as numbers dwindled and new recruits grew hard to come by. Calen redoubled his scowl and returned to his reading. The Brotherhood had endured hardships in the past. It would weather this one also.

A soft rapping on the door interrupted his thoughts and drew his attention. Was it suppertime already? So hard to mark the passage of time in these enclosed, sheltered rooms... Well, he was due a break anyhow. Calen rubbed his eyes and said "Come in," before glancing back over the scattered manuscripts spread upon his desk. Silence. "Come in," he repeated, a little irritated. Perhaps they'd left it at the doorstep, knowing Calen's dark moods when he was interrupted. The Hume man sighed and stood.

Boots making a measured cadence upon the wooden floor, Calen made for the doorway and stopped, frowning just in front of it. One who'd delved into the arcane arts for a number of years sometimes developed a sixth sense about things, and this situation seemed wrong somehow... Exactly how was answered for him in the next moment.

Time seemed to slow to an agonizing pace as a crunching, tearing noise announced the door's latch being torn forcibly from the wall. It flew inwards, striking Calen full in the face and sending him toppling backwards to the floor. A rushing, leathery noise like the sound of a riding-cloak in the breeze greeted his ears, curiously loud. Then a burst of light as his head struck the floor and an unfamiliar weight settled to his chest. Senses spinning, Calen realized he'd closed his eyes. They opened to blearily focus on an Elvaan man, one armored foot upon Calen's chest. That explained the weight at least, he thought groggily.

"Hello my friend," intoned the man solemnly. "We've a few things to discuss, you and I. Loosen your tongue willingly and we will both be spared all manner of unpleasantness. I may even grant you your life, if you behave."

"Who," spluttered Calen, enraged and frightened.

"Names are unimportant," the Elvaan said smoothly. "As are a good many other things. I will ask questions, and you will answer them. I do hope I'm keeping this simple enough," he smiled disarmingly.

"How did you find this place?" Calen glared, mentally scrabbling for names of those who might have betrayed him. He came up with several, but none were clever or resourceful enough to set dogs upon him, least of all to get past the safeguards and precautions taken. Who, then...?

The Elvaan shook his head sadly. "Perhaps I have not made myself sufficiently clear." He unstrapped a massive cermet lance from his back that seemed to radiate an uncomfortable coldness and leveled the tip at Calen's chin. "I will ask questions. You will answer them. Nod if you understand."

Furious and humiliated, Calen nodded.

"Some time ago, there was a little matter with a certain Hume woman. I believe an accomplice of yours, Merra, oversaw the issue?" Nod. "A certain injury was inflicted upon the woman's at the incident's conclusion. You know what I refer to?"

So that's what he was after. Merra had insisted on personally overseeing the entire matter with the woman and her amulet, and in typical Elvaan fashion grossly overestimated his own abilities and fallen prey to the very same person he'd hoped to ensnare. Calen snorted mentally in disgust.

Just in case the plan had fallen through, purely out of spite, Merra had put a powerful curse upon his blades, linked to the subtle fluctuations of energies in the Crystal Line. That, in combination with the woman's unique bloodline, would act both as a safeguard against fulfilling her purpose and as a means of vengeance. Merra left a fitting gift in his passage, but a fat lot of good that did the Brotherhood of the Bound Ones. Vengeance or no, all their plans still came to a dead end when the woman and her child had walked free.

Suddenly, it all struck Calen as terribly funny. Months later, when the curse had already well advanced beyond reversibility, comes this man. Kicking down his door and demanding answers. Alright, then. Let him have his answers. Calen began to laugh, but wheezed painfully as the armored foot asserted its weight.

"I know why you're here. And it's pointless. You've put the pieces together, and now you see the puzzle and pat yourself on the back. Well, here's the last piece. I hope you choke on it and die, just like that woman and her damned whelp—Ah!" he gasped as the lance-head lowered and brushed his skin. It WAS cold! Chillingly so.

"It's in the blood! The thing that makes her what she is has been twisted! Now any fluctuation in the flow of energies in the Crystal Line will set it off. She's a dead woman already, if things are bad enough to make you hunt me down here!"

"I suppose you'd better think of remedies then. And quickly," growled the Elvaan.

"There are none," spat Calen. "Not unless you can make her something other than what she is! Don't you know, you fool! She's a scion of the ancients! The curse is irreversible."

Calen shuddered and lay back, closing his eyes. He was probably going to be killed for that. So what. It was the truth, and couldn't be told in plainer terms. He waited for the lance to fall. It never did. Instead, the weight lifted from his chest. Calen opened his eyes in wonder, finding the tall stranger strolling away casually, down the hallway.

"Aren't you going to kill me, you fool? I'll set the entire Brotherhood upon you! We won't stand for this insult!"

"I am a man of my word," said the Elvaan, half-turning. "I said I'd not kill you if you behaved. And so you have. However, know this. I have the means to track down each and every last wretched one of your pathetic little order. I will do so, until I am given the answer that I seek. If I am not..." He shrugged. "I will cease to be so merciful. And Vana'Diel will be spared another blight. Should you wish to find me however, tell your friends to inquire of Verence Leif Monveaux. Tell them I will be waiting. I shouldn't be too difficult to find." With that, Verence turned and began walking away.

Calen's mouth dried. To speak with such assured bravado, he had to know how thinly-stretched the Brotherhood was. There was no way they could spare enough resources to present a serious threat just now. This had to be dealt with now. Calen rose and began murmuring the words to an ancient spell.

A blue flash crossed his vision, accompanied by the sound of a rippling cloak... No. Wings. Calen gasped and sagged as his throat was torn from his body. He heard one last thing before everything turned black.

"Ah, Lumiere. It seems he did not wish to behave."


	2. Crystalline Tears

Verence stepped out from under the cover of foliage into the small clearing, drawing a deep breath. Sunlight played in faint streamers through the overgrowth, sending dancing flames deep into the crystal spring at the clearing's heart. The Elvaan stepped forward, footsteps making no sound in the soft loam of the forest floor. Verence had always been fond of Zi'Tah, and the scene before him made him in no hurry to change his mind. Now if only he could remember why he was here...

_A dream_, he decided. _It must be a dream_. He carried no lance, Lumiere was nowhere to be found, and the even more ethereal than usual ambiance of Zi'Tah's woods bore his theory out.

"Verence," called a mellifluous voice that he recognized instantly. _Diamondelle! If this is a dream, it's by far the most pleasant I've had in some time_, he thought. As if in answer, Diamondelle herself stepped out of thin air to stand at the spring's edge. She smiled radiantly, not noticing as the sun's rays passed through her unperturbed to continue their merriment in the pool's depths.

"Ah, there you are." Verence returned her smile.

"Aye, that I am," she replied. Looking Verence over head to foot, she continued, "I see your fight went well."

Verence's mind wandered back to the events of the past several days. A team of six, veterans of their trade and witness to countless adventures, had gone to the floating isle of the Zilart in a desperate bid for the future of Vana'Diel. Verence had the honor of traveling among them, and fighting beside them against the death grip of an age long passed by. She was right. Things had gone well... Six had departed, six had returned. Not even the crucible of the Celestial Nexus had softened their resolve.

"Yes," he said. "It has... Finally, the threat of Tu'Lia has ended."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it."

They fell silent a moment, content to simply gaze at each other. Presently, Verence added "I visited Deraveux..."

"How's my boy?" grinned Diamondelle.

"He is not well, but he is a strong lad. He endures, and he has high hopes of recovery."

"Well... He should be fine, now." The healer paused, gnawing her lip nervously. "Verence, I don't have much time—"

"I understand," Verence interjected smoothly. "I will make haste to Uggalepih." Hers was a curse that had not given up easily, but if there was ever a race specializing in curses, it was the Tonberries. Perhaps, in the temple's libraries...

"No, no," explained Diamondelle. "While you were away, I saw a vision. One of the Dawnmaidens came to me. She explained to me the origins of my recent illness... And the events exacerbating it. It is a blood curse, linked to my bloodline and the energies of the Crystal Line."

"Yes, those of the Order said much the same! Then there is hope for recovery!" Verence's eyes glowed at the prospect of a cure.

Diamondelle stared at the man in front of her for some time before responding quietly. "For Deraveux, yes. He'll live on." She drew a deep breath and sighed. "But in order for him to live, I had to make a choice. The Dawnmaidens explained to me my purpose. Why I was given that amulet. Why I was possessed so long ago, everything.

"My bloodline has always protected the way to Paradise. The amulet, as you may remember..." She paused, thinking of a better way to put it. "The man I fought, Merra. He put a curse on his blade before our battle. Every fluctuation in the energy of the Crystal Line will make it worse. Soon after you left for Tu'Lia, the Dawnmaiden came to me. The curse was removed from my bloodline... But I cannot remain here for that to work. For Deraveux to be safe."

"By 'remain here' you mean..." Verence trailed off, stunned.

She nodded, pressing on in spite of his dismayed stare. "I'm to return with the Dawnmaidens." She shook her head, stilling the rising protest and continued, "I'll be taking my place as a former guardian of Vana'Diel. Deraveux will be safe, and even more importantly, Vana'Diel will be safe."

The Dragoon paled, breathing "Then all that searching... All that time... Nothing could have been done? There was no way to reverse things? _Nothing_?"

Diamondelle sighed heavily and stepped forward, slipping her arms around the distraught Elvaan. "This is the only way. Please, Verence... Just know that I love you."

"This world... Vana'Diel..." Verence swallowed hard against the rising lump in his throat. "I know. I know, Diamondelle. This world is far more important than any two of its inhabitants. To keep that safe is worth sacrificing all." He returned the embrace, feeling the first hot tickle of forming tears in the corners of his eyes. "But still... Still, if only it were not so."

The slender Hume looked up at him, smiling weakly. "This is for the best, no matter how hard it may be. Please, keep watch over my boy. Make sure he grows up big and strong. Like you," she added, warmth creeping into her smile.

"You've my word." He paused. "This, then, is to be our last meeting?"

"Time only will tell, Verence. If we've any luck at all, then no."

Verence gazed down at her, his own tears finding their mirror in her upturned face. "I love you. Though time has rendered those words well worn, the sentiment remains undimmed. Know this. Believe it. That... That is all I ask."

"I do, Verence. You've nothing to fear there." She stepped backwards, drawing a steadying breath. Then she grinned. "Keep up my tradition of slaying sea creatures, will you?"

An unexpected chuckle escaped Verence's lips, despite himself. "Of course. The depths shall ring from shore to shore in memory of your name, beloved."

Heeding the summons of a voice unheard, Diamondelle glanced anxiously about the clearing. "It's time, Verence. No one must know. I don't want them fussing over my death... Or disappearance, or whatever you want to call it."

"They will, in time. When it is discovered. I am not the only one who cared for you. But... I will do my best to carry out your wishes."

Verence stared, etching every detail of the scene into memory. "You know... Thinking back, I regret nothing. What little time we had to share... Every minute, worthwhile. Had I the choice, I would gladly do it again. No matter the outcome."

"Me too, Verence. Me too."

Verence drew himself up soberly and intoned, "Go, then. And know that all is well in the wake of your departure."

Diamondelle turned and faded into the morning light. Her last whispered words twined into the forest breeze as she disappeared.

"I will always love you..."

Verence slowly fell to his knees, numbed to his core. He murmured four simple words, even as he awoke.

"And I you, beloved."


	3. A Promise Kept

Verence squinted up at the midday sun impassively. Yes. Impassive. That was a good word for it. No matter the season, no matter the locale, ever did that celestial sphere grant light to Vana'Diel, uncaring for those upon whom it shone. It simply shone. For a brief moment, Verence longed for that indifference, but shook his head. No. It would not do to belittle the past. He baited the hook of his fishing rod and glanced out over the emerald waters of Bibiki Bay, allowing his mind to roam over the events of the past day.

Verence had awoken with a start as the airship arrived in the port of San d'Oria, a sense of dread slowly creeping into his stomach as his feet thudded onto the solid planking of the docks. He shook his head slowly and gave an absent-minded greeting to the port authority as she opened the doors from the air travel agency into the city proper. The austere stone facets of San d'Oria rose before him, but Verence's thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He strode through the port in a self-absorbed daze, hardly noticing as his feet led him onward.

The dream he'd had was almost _too_ vivid, _too_ real... And it left him with an overwhelming desire to see her face once more, to hear her labored and obviously forced assurances that she was doing well despite the mountain of evidence to the contrary. Verence had feared he would never hear those assurances again. Verence's fears were soon to be confirmed.

Through the parade-grounds in front of the Chateau he strode, not even sparing it a glance. Something in the back of Verence's mind told him he probably ought to check in, but it was a whispered voice, a wraith easily ignored. Onward though the victory arch he went, scattered thoughts coalescing into a single, quiet urgency. Find her. Listen her voice. Take her hands in his own.

A curious sense of detachment took hold of him as he crossed the threshold of Diamondelle's home; A strange, floating feeling; as if an automaton had entered the room and left the tall Elvaan standing at the doorway. The small upstairs room was much the way it had usually been, swept and well-kempt with obvious signs of use. A teacup sat on the nightstand, only half-drained. A book had been left open at the foot of the bed, pages still open to where she had left off reading. To all appearances, it seemed as if Diamondelle had only stepped out a moment before. Then Verence's eye caught the small note she had left on her writing-desk, the very same one her dream-apparition told him he would find. With trembling hands, he lifted it to the light.

_Dear friends,  
__I've been called to something very urgent as of recently that needs my attending. Don't worry about me, I'm feeling much better now and will be very able to handle the task set before me. This will be a very long mission, however, and I won't be back for some time._

_Sincerely,  
__Diamondelle Moratum_

It felt as though the ground had abruptly opened beneath Verence's feet, swallowing him whole. Numbed fingers smoothed the note where it had rumpled, their owner absently wondering when they'd clenched. He left, then, leaving the note on the table and walking back the way he had came before he had even fully realized what he was doing.

It was true, then. She was gone. Almost in a trance, Verence returned to his mog house and began to search through old, dusty boxes until he found what he had sought; his old fishing tackle.Thus arrayed, he mouthed words become second nature by study and practice. Coruscating light enveloped him, and he was gone.

He did not recall much of the walk from the Crag of Mea to the Manaclipper docks, only a vague sense of motion as the local goblin populace eyed him warily and moved aside. And now, he found himself sitting upon the dock, rod in hand, waiting for the ferry to arrive. Now, with time and distance, he had been able to think things over.

This would undoubtedly start a firestorm of rumors. Two high-ranking adventurers with government positions, engaged for a long time... And suddenly one disappears. The hume one, no less. Verence pondered that for a moment before realizing he really didn't care.

Although it had been explained to him, although he knew it was for the best, the knowledge did nothing to soothe the spreading numbness in his chest. By Altana, he was going to miss her.

Verence cast his rod. He had promises to keep, after all.

_The depths shall ring from shore to shore in memory of thy name, beloved..._


	4. The Wake

Deraveux sat up in bed excitedly as a familiar figure stepped into his room, ducking its head slightly to avoid the low doorframe. The Elvaan man was never really in any danger of bumping his head, but the modest Lower Jeuno home had been built with Humes in mind. The fact than a small Elvaan family now lived here didn't speak worlds of their financial situation, but they were happy enough; close ceilings was a small price to pay for the unparalleled location – Right next to the edge of the great Market Bridge that ran the length of this spoke of the city, overlooking the meeting point of the Bastore Sea and the Sea of Shu'Meyo. They made do, they lived peaceably, and from time to time they had visitors such as this one.

"Verence!" the boy cried happily. "You found the cure, right? You must have! I feel better already, and they say tomorrow I can go outside again!" He took another breath to continue, but was stilled by the Dragoon's upraised hand.

"No," he smiled. "Not I. It was actually Diamondelle who found the cure. She would have come to tell you herself, but she has..." He slight pause as he swallowed, as if finding something distasteful suddenly caught in his throat. Verence cleared it, then continued, "Well, urgent business came up. She's unfortunately going to be very busy for quite a while, but she did ask me to come check on you."

"Check on me?" Deraveux laughed. "Whatever for? She knew I was going to get better the moment you started looking for the cure!"

She may not have, but Deraveux certainly did. Why the two adventurers had suddenly taken so much interest in him – first the healer, then the dragon knight – he'd never be quite certain. But for a boy his age, he couldn't possibly think of anything more exciting than an adventurer, not king nor wizard nor even a Ducal Guard. When he'd come down with that mysterious illness, Deraveux worried if he'd ever get to play keep-away with his friends on the Port Jeuno cobblestones again. When Verence of San d'Oria himself had come and promised to help make him better, keep-away suddenly didn't seem quite so important anymore. Two high-ranking San d'Orian adventurers visiting him, a Lower Jeuno kid! Not even rocket-powered chocobos could top that. His thoughts scattered as Verence, silent for a moment, spoke again.

"Well," he began. "I suppose she wanted to know how fast you'd recovered. And recovered you have, certainly. I'm no doctor, but I'm amazed they've not let you outside already."

Deraveux beamed, not noticing how carefully the words directed towards him were chosen. "It's because I'm made of stern stuff! My father says so!"

"So you are," grinned Verence. "So you are." He paused, considering something for a moment. "Deraveux, should you be interested... And should your parents allow, of course... Have you any interest in fishing?"

"Fishing?" The boy's eyes lit up. "I caught a herring once, Nosteau, but Francois says I'm a liar. I bet I could do it again! Then I'd show him!" One small fist clenched and waved excitedly, as if taunting the face of Francois himself. A low chuckle turned his excitement into a plaintive wail. "I did! I _so_ did!"

"And I'll wager it was a fine herring," assured the taller of the two. "I was actually wondering if perhaps you wouldn't..." The dragoon paused again, clearing his throat lightly. Was Verence sick too? "...Wouldn't like to help me keep a promise to a very dear friend. We'd work around your parents' preferences of course, and I cannot promise regular lessons. But there's a rod in it for you, and a sea full of fish. What say you?" The smile to match the words was hesitant; the reply was anything but.

"Yes! I say yes! And when the ocean's run out of fish, we can start on the rivers!" The resultant laughter was the first whole-hearted sound Verence had made so far. The warmth in that laughter made Deraveux grin even wider, despite himself. "When may we start? Not today, certainly, and tomorrow I need to go check on my favorite spot and make sure Hollis hasn't stolen it while I was away, but how soon after that?"

"Well now, that's up to your parents, now isn't it? Lay back now, and I will discuss matters with them. No cause to spoil your last day of rest."

Deraveux uttered a loud "Awwwww," voicing exactly what he thought of his last day of rest, but did as he was told. First he got better, almost all at once, now just a few days later he was going to get fishing lessons! He was just beginning to wonder the best way to brag to all his friends when a thought struck him.

"Verence?"

"Yes?"

"When will Diamondelle come to visit?"

The visitor froze, halfway out the door already, head awkwardly ducked to avoid a lintel it would not have struck anyways. He turned slowly, straightening, and spoke quietly. "Not for a long time, Deraveux. The promise, the one I mentioned, was actually to Diamondelle. Perhaps if we are diligent in its keeping we will see her again, no?"

"Yes! And I can thank her for finding the cure then, too!"

"That you can, Deraveux. That you can." Verence turned and left, low doorframe forgotten as he stepped outside. Deraveux lay back and closed his eyes, plans for the future rapidly fading into dreams of fish and open sea and two smiling adventurers on a grand journey. He didn't know where they were going, but he didn't care either. He had promises to keep.


End file.
